


A Good Name

by staredecisis



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Plays fast and loose with some canon but life is short and canon is flexible, listen ive written about them being together but this is about HOW they got together you feel me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staredecisis/pseuds/staredecisis
Summary: Hancock struggles to confront the many ghosts of his past after aiding the Railroad but finds a myriad of realizations after Mina takes him on an unexpected trip.





	1. Chapter 1

“You all good?”

Hancock squints in return, searching for some kind of hidden sarcasm but finding none, he shrugs. “Never better.” It’s not a lie, not really. This whole thing gives a pretty good high and one that most drugs can’t replicate. He arches a brow as the moonlight catches on Deacon’s glasses. “Still wearin’ those shades? That’s commitment.” 

“Coming from the guy still wearing rags from the Revolutionary War?” Deacon retorts, “I’ll take it as a compliment.” 

Touche. There’s no love lost between him and Deacon, more a longstanding armistice. He’s always turned a blind eye to the Railroad which in turn meant tolerating occasional appearances and another level of murky business in Goodneighbour. 

Mina’s involvement had initially been a surprise, though he can’t help but wonder if her friendship with Nick plays at least some role. He’d been the first to help her, after all, the one to help her track down Kellogg and discover the increasingly bloody path she’s been following to get the kid back. 

Deacon and the other lady, the one possessing one of the most intense stares he’s ever witnessed, hadn’t exactly been thrilled when Mina had dragged him into their basement and announced their intent to help, but the edge had eventually worn off their wariness. Still, Hancock thinks, Deacon is here to keep an eye on him, not help with the mission. 

He leans against a rotting door frame and lights up a cigarette without offering one to Deacon. “Your friend settling in ok?” He takes a slow drag, shivering briefly against the chill night air. “The one with the scars, the other Vaultie?”

“She’s fine,” Deacon says stiffly enough Hancock casts him a curious glance, “It’s not exactly an easy world to get used to, unless you’re naturally a fan of giant creepy crawlies and a hundred and one ways to use bones as decorations.”

“Safe to say Mina ain’t the biggest fan of it either, most of the time,” He snorts, “You should get your friend to help her mellow out a bit.”

Hancock’s gaze settles back on Mina, still intently talking with the synth in the shadow of the ruined home that apparently passes for a safehouse. The poor guy’s shaken to his core and there’s still blood splattered on his collar, courtesy of his shotgun and impressive aim, even if it is so fucking dark he’d almost walked into a rusted stop sign. They’re speaking quietly enough he can barely make it out, but Mina’s using that tone again, the one he’s only ever heard her use with kids and Kent. That quicksilver smile of her follows not long after, warm and genuine and all too rare. It seems to put the synth at ease and he nods back, a weak smile of his own following. 

“Hancock?”

Hancock wonders if she smiled more before all of this, back before the bombs with her picture perfect husband and her picture perfect house with a picture perfect-

“Hey, you good?” He blinks as Deacon snaps his fingers, “All that Jet finally catch up with you?”

He gives a little shake of his head to refocus. “Jesus, could you make any more noise?,” He snaps back irritably, “Thought you Railroaders were supposed to be sneaky or some shit.”

He can’t see it, but he suspects Deacon rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Come on, High Rise needs everyone to clear out.” 

Snuffing out his cigarette with his boot, he gives Mina a quick nod as she and the synth approach. It’s creepy, how impossibly human the synth looks, crafted to perfection. “I-,” The synth swallows nervously and Mina gives his shoulder a little squeeze encouragingly. Hancock distantly notes there’s blood on her jacket, as well. “I was told I shouldn’t say anything, but...I need to.” A nervous inhale. “I wanted to thank you all.”

“No problem, my man,” Deacon’s voice softens, “Stay safe out there, ok?”

“Yeah,” Hancock rasps in agreement and he extends a withered hand, “You ever need anything, you come to Goodneighour, ok? Might not make for the world’s prettiest tour of the Wealth’, but it sure beats wherever the hell you came from.” 

High Rise gestures impatiently from the doorway and the synth turns to Mina quickly. “Listen,” she states softly but firmly, “All of this? It’s gonna’ be hard, hard enough that you won’t know what to do for a long time, but you know what? Out here? You’re free. It’s all worth it once you remember that.”

“What should I call myself?” The synth stammers, “If people ask me, what should I say? I don’t have a name, Father never-”

“John’s a good name,” Mina says calmly and Hancock nearly chokes, “How about that? Much better than H2-22.”

The synth considers that for a long moment before nodding, a slight smile creeping over his features as his mouth forms the word. “John. John. Yes, that works.”

With that, the synth disappears into the night with High Rise, no trace of him left behind for the Institute to chase down and leaving both Hancock and Deacon staring. 

Mina doesn’t so much as bat an eye, shivering and pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “I don’t think he’s ever seen violence. Well, not like tonight, anyway. Pretty sure he’s a little traumatized, but better that than back in the Institute.” 

“Uh-,” says Deacon articulately.

Hancock grits his teeth, “Any chance we could have ourselves a word? Privately?” 

“Sure,” Mina shrugs nonchalantly, holstering her pistol and following him around the corner, lightly flicking open an ancient gate. Hancock glances over his shoulder to make certain Deacon is out of earshot, then growls, “What was that?”

“What was what?” She arches an auburn eyebrow, crossing her arms and leaning back against the fence, but Hancock thinks he can spy warmth in her eyes when they catch in the moonlight. It makes what he’s feeling, and he isn’t certain there’s a specific word for it, all the more intense. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” He snaps sharply, “Not without asking.” 

Something in her face shifts then, the angles in her features hardening. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” She replies just as calmly, though there’s a thin, crisp line of iciness in her words. 

“That-,” He gestures loosely behind him, stammering for a moment before shaking his head, fists curling into the worn fabric of his sleeves. A good name. It spirals through his head like a song. “Don’t pull that shit again, you got it?”

She leans off the fence now and takes a confident step towards him. There isn’t any of that warmth left in her eyes, there’s barely any emotion registering in her at all. “Like I said,” she repeats and leans in closely, “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” It’s the way she talks to the Brotherhood, so crisply it’s as if she’s speaking to an idiot and he hates that he’s the recipient of it, feels a sudden churn of guilt beneath the anger. 

They stand like that, silently, and he wants to ask why she did that, because she shouldn’t have. Names aren’t something to be taken lightly, names have power. Names are given and taken after people to be emulated. He would know, after all, and he knows equally as well that that synth deserves a better name. 

“It’s…,” He finally sighs and breaks her gaze. “LIsten, it’s just Hancock now, ok? John’s not a good name.” John’s been dead for years, probably deserved to die long before that, if he’s perfectly honest. 

Her eyes briefly widen, disappointed, and then she too looks away quickly. “I’m gonna’ go sleep next door, Deacon said the neighborhood’s been cleared out.” She doesn’t look over her shoulder as she walks away. “You can head back to Goodneighbour, if you want. If not, come get me in the morning.”

She’s gone then, just like the synth, and he’s left with a myriad of emotions and the desperate need for a hit. He parks himself in a rusty old chair and kicks his feet up on an equally dilapidated table, closing his eyes and letting the familiar rush of the Jet pour over him. 

Things have been good since she showed up and even better since he asked to join her, no doubt about that. The neon streets of Goodneighbour are always a welcome sight but this? Shit is real out here and deadly serious, enough that he feels good and truly alive again. It’s probably fucked up that it takes nearly getting shot every other day and baking beneath an irradiated sky to feel alive again, but there’s a kick to it all that even the various drugs strewn about his office can’t supply. 

He takes another deep inhale before any more unwanted memories dancing at the periphery of his thoughts can creep in. 

It’s occurred to him before that the reason it all feels so addictive because he’s doing something good, for a change, something more than bold speeches and breaking up fights in the Third Rail. This is raw and messy and he’s missed feeling alive. 

Then, of course, there’s her. Every time he thinks he’s managed to figure her out she goes and does something he could never see coming, some display of unflinching ruthlessness or unrepentant kindness. A good name. Her eyes locking with Sinjin’s before pulling the trigger, gaze burning with determination. A good name. The little smile she tries to mask when he offers her a mentat for the thousandth time. 

Hancock takes a final hit to ward off the guilt gnawing at him. There are better names than John.


	2. Chapter 2

He dreams of the little shack outside of Diamond City, the faded posters he’s so diligently collected nailed against the wood. His brother is too old for them now, has far more interest in the girls that occasionally wander outside of the great green walls and down by the waterfront. His brother smiles in the dreams, the way he used to, even when he’s teasing. They’re good dreams, light and easy and familiar, and the haze of it slowly fades as he wakes. 

“Hancock.”

He groans quietly and turns his head away. 

“Hancock.” 

He lazily blinks one eye open and pulls the blanket up higher. “But the sun’s not even-,” He realizes that then he’s still outside in that busted old chair and it’s Mina’s blanket draped over him. It hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. 

“Yeah, change of plans,” Mina replies, the dawn just beginning to crest behind her shoulder, “I’m not heading back into the city.”

He rubs his eyes with his wrist and sits up slowly, blinking away his sleepiness. “Where you headed now?”

“It’s a little more out of the way, but if we head out soon, we can make it by afternoon.” 

“Still waitin’ to hear where,” He arches a brow and carefully plucks the blanket off of his bony frame, “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“It’s a surprise,” She takes the blanket and kneels down to fold it, placing it in her pack. Hancock wonders how soon after their conversation she must have come back, then left it draped over him. He’s just as relieved there appears to be no tension after last night, no lingering annoyance but the normal ease between them hasn’t yet returned. “Couldn’t just let you freeze,” Mina snorts softly, “Your constituents would have me drawn and quartered.” 

He stands and stretches, wincing quietly as a sore muscle pulses. “I’m bad with surprises, sister, especially if they involve brahmin or unlabeled mentats.” 

“None of the above are involved,” She rolls her eyes and slides her pack on. “You coming or not? We have to head out soon if we’re gonna’ make it.” 

He leans down to tie the laces of his boots and considers it for a moment. Mina doesn’t seem angry enough for it to be some sort of a punishment, wherever it is she suddenly wants to go, and there’s the chance going with her will cause the still gnawing guilt in his stomach to ease up. “Yeah yeah, just a minute.” He digs around in his pockets for a mentat before tossing it in his mouth. “Some of us ain’t naturally morning people, you know.” 

He likes to think he caught a glimpse of a smile as she starts walking. 

The day goes by quickly and easily enough, though Mina’s pace is more determined than usual and leaves little room for the usual conversations they have on the road. Mina’s sharp as a tack, which he admires, and more than sharp enough to keep up with him. It’s a welcome change from the slurred haze that generally accompanies Goodneighbour chats and even nicer to not be called Mayor for a while. 

There’s a break for a quick lunch and another hit for him, the Jet easing the aches in his shoulders that usually follow shoot outs. However, there’s still no clue to where she’s singularly focused on getting to, save that it’s north and far enough from any road that he’s practically tripping over rocks and tangled roots every few feet. 

The worst of the midday heat is behind them when she finally comes to a halt, pointing out a small building on a low bluff before them. Hancock squints at it, then looks to Mina in confusion. “It ain’t ringing a bell, if it’s supposed to.”

Another brief glimmer of a smile before she keeps walking, “It’s not.” 

He stares to get a better picture of the place as they approach. It might have been some kind of motel once, given the large pool in the back and the cracked concrete leading to the door, but it isn’t now. Hancock can make out figures walking in and out of the building in front of the pool and through the small, neat rows of plants adjacent to it. A settlement, by the looks of it, and apparently well organized. 

Mina raises a hand in greeting as one of the figures stands up from amongst the plants, who waves back a moment later. She must know this place, Hancock thinks, well enough that these settlers recognize her. 

The figure sets down pruning sheets and comes closer, wiping his hands off on a pair of worn, dirtied jeans. It isn’t until he speaks that Hancock realizes, with surprise, that it’s a ghoul. “Didn’t bring Valentine with you this time, huh?” The ghoul says warmly, deep voice rasping in the instantly familiar tone of his kindred, “Send my regards to him, will you? And remind him he still owes me 10 caps from that poker game he lost last time you were up here.”

Mina laughs and nods, tying back messied hair. “You got it. Fence still holding up ok?”

“As good as any you could find before the war,” The ghoul nods proudly and meets Hancock’s gaze curiously. “Well, I’m guessing this must be Mayor Hancock, huh?”

Hancock pauses, glancing briefly towards Mina. “It might be, depends on who’s asking.” 

“Hancock,” Mina gestures coolly towards the ghoul, “Meet Wiseman. He’s in charge of the Slog.” 

“It’s an honor,” Wiseman extends a hand firmly, “Heard an awful lot about you and even more about Goodneighbour. What you’re doing is good work. Come on in, let me show you around.” He looks to Mina. “Unless you’ve both got somewhere to be, I don’t want to take up your time.”

“We don’t,” says Mina pleasantly before he can even open his mouth, “I’m going to chat with Arlen for a couple minutes, I think.”

“Holly’ll be pleased to see you, too,” Wiseman’s lips twist into a smirk, “She has a thing for redheads, you know.” 

Mina flushes and rolls her eyes before slipping through the gate and into the compound. Hancock can’t help but think it’s a nice color as he watches her leave. 

\--------

It’s nightfall by the time he’s finished looking around the place and chatting with the rest of the residents. He can admire a place like this. Wiseman, against all odds, has apparently managed to carve out a place for himself and those like him away from the fear and prejudice of the city. Survival is always admirable in his eyes, but this? This is more than survival. 

This is a neat system, as neat at the rows of muttfruit plants adorning their field, and one that has promise. More than that, the ghouls here are happy. 

Nick and Mina have come up a few times, apparently, usually to lend a hand with whatever needs built or repaired or bring supplies from Boston. He’s faintly annoyed she hasn’t told him about this place yet, or brought him here, but the annoyance fades when Wiseman sets up a fire and brings out some dusty bottles of beer when the set begins to set. 

“You know,” Hancock takes a sip of his beer, comfortably reclining in one of the ancient pool chairs set up around the fire, “We could always try and set somethin’ up, if you wanted. Goodneighbor’s always looking for food and hey, it’s a bonus if it ain’t irradiated to hell and back.” 

“You won’t find better produce in the whole Commonwealth,” One of the other ghouls chimes in proudly, “Sourced ethically, too.” 

Hancock suspects they must be a pre-war ghoul. 

“We’d be eager to get anything going,” Wiseman nods thoughtfully, pausing to sip his beer, “Besides, if we get a chance, we can show the other settlements that we’re ready for business and, ah-,” Another pause, “Assuage any doubts they might have.” 

Hancock catches Mina smiling out of the corner of his eye, features dancing in the firelight. “We’ll sort out the details tomorrow then, how’s that?” He clicks his bottle against Wiseman’s. “Ghouls gotta’ support ghouls.”  
“Holy shit.” An unfamiliar voice rings out through the darkness beyond the fire and Hancock flinches, instinctively reaching for his shotgun. 

“Henry, you back?” Wiseman sits up calmly and Hancock relaxes. “Everything ok?”

Another ghoul steps forward into the glow of the fire, wide eyed. “I-,” He blinks twice. “McDonough, that you?”

Hancock nearly drops his bottle. “Do I know you?” He says as evenly as he can and his chest suddenly feels very tight. He doesn’t recognize the ghoul, who looks as young as any ghoul can. Must’ve been a teenager when all the rads kicked in. 

“I...yeah, I mean,” The other ghoul stares, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s been years. I….I heard about what happened with you, after everything, how are you, um, now.”

There’s a moment of panic that sets in and he thinks he’s going to vomit the muttfruit lodged in his stomach. He swallows hard, works to collect himself and keep the sheen of panic from his voice. “Sorry, still not followin’.”

“You helped me, remember? Henry Weaver?’ Henry sets his pack down and the night is silent save for the crackling of the fire. “Me and my family, got us out of Diamond City. You don’t remember?”

Hancock feels very nearly light headed.” They were gone that day he came back. No note, no message. No footprints or clothes or-

“We heard a bunch of raiders were coming in and had to take off,” Henry nods urgently, words practically spilling out of his mouth. “It all happened so fast and-”

“What about your family?” Mina speaks up softly, voice measured, and Hancock’s gaze swivels to her. She meets his gaze, expression softening before looking back to Henry. “They’re all settled down in DC, right?”

“Everyone’s down in Capitol but me,” Henry continues eagerly, “There’s a whole city of ghouls down there, it’s called the Necropolis. Figured I’d come back up and try my luck once we heard about the Slog, see if they could come back and join me if it was safe again. We heard Goodneighbour was great and everything, but we wanted to be with other ghouls-”

He stands up quickly enough he nearly knocks his chair over. “I-,” He sucks in a breath, “Just...just need a minute-”

“Take your time,” Wiseman says gently and he gets away from the circle as quickly as he can, mind swirling as he blindly shuts the gate behind him. He fumbles for jet, for anything in his pockets, to take the roaring edge off of whatever the fuck this is. 

He’d thought they’d died. All these years, all that guilt that crawls into his memories if he isn’t diligent about warding it off, all those silent apologies to ghosts. He’d thought they’d died and he’d more or less let them die, just like all the other bastards in Diamond City. 

Equally as complicit. Too brave, too late. 

He finally manages to find a cigarette and it’s enough for now, last thing he wants is a bad trip while trying to sort this out. Hancock leans against the crumbling wall of the compound and steadies his hand as he lights it, closing his eyes with a ragged breath. 

“You ok?”

Of course she’d come. There’s worry in her voice, quiet and gentle as it is. He takes another shallow drag, inhales sharply. “You knew. You set all of this up.” He grits his teeth. “What the fuck, Mina?”

“I found out a couple weeks ago,” Mina nods and leans against the wall aside him, fingers nervously picking at the edge of her sleeve., “Nick and I come up here sometimes to help out, see what they need.” He continues to stare at her. “I chatted with Henry, put it together after what you told me about...before, with Diamond City.” 

“I thought-,”

“I know you did, Hancock,” Mina interrupts, turning to him. Her features are sharp in the pale moonlight, eyes deep and intense. ““Nick and I were going to bring you up here together, but I thought maybe now would be a better time.” 

Hancock swallows hard, bites the inside of his lip and closes his eyes. They’re burning. He can’t remember the last time that happened. “So they’re all fine?”

“Alive and well,” Mina murmurs so softly it makes his chest ache, “Nick and I wanted to you know. You deserve to.” He closes his eyes and breathes the cold night air in deeply, works to compose himself, at least for now, at least in front of her. Her soft hand rests over his own, squeezes his gnarled fingers gently. “I’m sorry, I...I didn’t mean for it to be this much of a shock.”

He thinks this might the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for him. He opens his eyes. “Why’d you do this?” It comes out more of a growl than he intended.

She stares at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re a good man.” A little shake of her head follows, “Listen, there’s a little of fucking terrible people out here. You can act like you don’t give a shit about a lot of things and I’d love it if you get off my ass about not doing drugs, but you shouldn’t think you’re not good.” 

A good name. A good man. 

“You really think that?” He meets her gaze.

“Of course I do,” She states it so earnestly, so simply that all of the emotions roaring inside of him come to a head and he follows the impulse blindly. 

He drops his cigarette and scuffs it out with his boot, then leans forward and kisses her.. He steps forward and pulls her closer, tighter against him, and her lips are soft enough Hancock almost sighs. It’s a poorly planned kiss and his hat is nearly knocked off in the process, but it’s still enough of a kiss that he realizes what he’s doing. 

He draws back just as quickly, mortified to see Mina staring at him in absolute shock. “Shit-,” He shouldn’t have done that, stolen a kiss from someone showing him kindness, someone with a dead husband and a missing kid. Not from Mina. “I shouldn’t have done that-,” 

“Hancock.”

“Mina, I wasn’t thinkin’-,” Hancock immediately drops his gaze and takes a step back, mortified. He’s never exactly been one to turn people down but this? She hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t wanted it and now he’s gone ruined all of this, acted on everything he’s felt so intently and felt for-

“Hancock.” She steps forward and he blinks as her hands are resting along his jaw now, fingertips brushing over ruined skin and hollow angles. “Hancock, it’s ok.” His brow furrows as he looks at her and she’s staring back so calmly it’s nearly unnerving. “It’s ok.”

It takes all of his will to keep from leaning into her touch, from closing his eyes and committing the warmth of her hands to memory. 

When he opens his eyes, she is staring at him so intently that that it’s nearly unnerving. Her fingers trace over the sharp ridge of his cheekbone tenderly and the expression on her face is impossible to read, but he knows it isn’t anger and the shock appears to have faded. “It’s ok,” Mina repeats a final time, as softly and as kindly as he’s ever heard, and then she’s kissing him. 

He all but melts into her touch. Withered hands come to carefully rest at her waist, nudging her closer against him. It’s a gentle kiss, but an earnest one, and he can’t remember the last time anyone kissed him like this and he was sober enough to take it all in. There’s no Jet in his system to soften the edges of this, numb him to the chill night air and the way her hair tickles his cheek when the wind stirs it. There’s nothing but crystal, perfect clarify when her lips glide over what’s left of his and brush over his ruined skin. 

When they finally pull apart, he sucks in a quick breath to steady his furiously beating heart and stares at her, searching her face for any sign of remorse. 

He wonders if she can see the panic in his gaze because she leans forward them, forehead resting against his. “I should’ve told you about all of this sooner,,” She murmurs and Hancock works to commit every aspect of the moment to memory. “I’m sorry, Hancock.” 

“Can’t see a reason to apologize,” He shakes his head and gingerly lifts a hand to brush his fingers along her cheek. Mina doesn’t recoil, she never has, and her pale skin is achingly soft. “And, if you want, John suits well enough.”


End file.
